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A GRAIL PUBLICATION

St. Meinrad Indiana

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For Review

HINTS ON PREACHING

by Rev. Joseph V. O'Connor

Price 25 <

We shall be pleased to have you

review this book in your periodical.

Kindly send us a marked copy of

your periodical in which the review

appears.

Publicity Director

GRAIL PUBLICATIONS

St. Meinrad, Indiana



HINTS

ON

PREACHING

by

REVEREND JOSEPH V. O’CONNOR

Price Twenty-five cents

A GRAIL PUBLICATION

St. Meinrad Indiana



NIHIL OBSTAT:

Joseph D. Brokhage, S.T.D.

Censor librorum

IMPRIMATUR:

J* Paul C. Schulte, D.D.

Archbishop of Indianapolis

February 26, 1955

Copyright 1955 by

St. Meinrad Archabbey, Inc.

GRAIL PUBLICATIONS

St. Meinrad, Indiana

DeacJdifie'-'



HINTS ON PREACHING

CHAPTER I

THE FUNDAMENTAL LAW OF

VOCAL DELIVERY

he importance of delivery, or, as it is

called by the classical rhetoricians, the

pronunciation of a discourse, is recognized

in all treatises on oratory. Whilst nothing

can supply the want of thought, its proper

vocal communication is essentially necessary

to the great end of public speaking, the per-

suasion, or, at least, the convincing of the

hearer.

It is a common experience to be present

at admirable sermons, which are completely

ruined in the delivery. The preacher rises

for the purpose of being understood. If he

cannot, by his voice, make his words intelli-

gible to his hearers, he fails to attain the

end which he sets before him, and he may as

well remain silent. As perspicuity is the

prime requisite of written composition, in-

1



telligibility is the first condition of effective

preaching. There is a natural pleasure in

listening to a speaker, whose words come

clear and distinct to our ears, even if he

utters nothing but commonplaces. The chief

beauty of style, according to Herbert Spencer,

is a transparent clearness, which enables us

to see, without effort, the writer’s meaning.

Every expenditure of mental force wearies,

and tends to exhaust the brain. If I must

struggle to understand the meaning of your

words, I come less vigorous to the apprehen-

sion of your thought. So, if a hearer must

crane his neck over a pew, to catch a word

here and there, he will quickly relax into in-

attention, and finally into a doze.

The essential condition of all intelligible

preaching, is articulation. By this is meant

the perfect formation of the word, as it falls

from the lips. To do this takes time. Sound

travels at a fixed rate. Give each word its

proper form and time, and wait until it is

fairly launched into the air-sea, as the Ger-

mans call the atmosphere. If you throw a

pebble into a lake, it will form wavelets

that go gradually to the bank. This is analo-

gous to the air-waves which sound sets in

motion. Do not jumble them together.

2



Books on elocution are filled with dry

tables of the sounds of letters. But the very

best way of forming a good articulation is

by the whisper. In order to make a man

hear your whisper, you must produce all the

vocal elements perfectly. When we try to

understand a man whispering to us across a

room, we observe his mouth, because the

shape helps us to know what words he is

forming, just as deaf people acquire an amaz-

ing facility in understanding our words,

from the motion of our lips.

You will be surprised to discover that

you can easily make yourself understood in

a whisper, at a distance of a hundred feet,

provided you articulate every syllable prop-

erly. Try this exercise daily, with a com-

panion. The result will be the sensible con-

clusion, that if you can be heard in a whis-

per, at a hundred feet, there is no necessity

for bellowing, or splitting the ears of your

audience.

As the vowel is heard of itself, give all

your attention to the consonant. This is

the backbone, the joint, or articulus of the

word or the syllable. All effective speak-

ing depends upon the percussion of the con-

sonant. To swell the voice on the vowel

3



results in mouthing. The clear-cut enuncia-

tion of the consonant sends the word like a

pistol-shot.

Time, in delivery, is measured, not on the

word, but between the words. Send out

the first word, clear, articulate, firm. Then

pause. Do not drawl the word. You may

wait as long as you please, after the word,

but not on it. Make your pauses between the

words. It seems strange to say, that you

cannot be too slow in delivery. Yet such is

the rule. The reason is, that your natural

impetuosity will hurry you along, in spite

of your determination to go slowly. Rein

yourself in. Force yourself to speak in a

measured tone. Even in the torrent, tempest,

and whirlwind of your passion, you must

acquire this temperance, this slowness, not

of the word, but of the pause.

Good articulation will secure you the

advantage of being heard and understood.

This is a beauty of speech, for which noth-

ing can compensate. The most eloquent

language, the most appropriate gesture will

fail of effect, if your words are unintelli-

gible.

Spare no pains to acquire this essential

condition. Read aloud a page daily, in a

4



slow, deliberate manner. Get somebody, if it

is only the sexton, to go with you into the

church, and station him in the last pew.

Take your natural conversational key, which

is somewhere in the middle register, neither

high nor low, and read or speak a few sen-

tences, perfectly articulated. You can also

practice the whisper exercise. Within a

short time, you will almost unconsciously

have formed the habit of speaking distinctly,

slowly, and naturally.

Once this habit is acquired, you will rest

easy on the score of being heard. You will

not be obliged to peer anxiously at the people

around the door of the church, to see whe-

ther the last man looks as if he heard you.

He may have the same kind of face as Lord

Thurlow’s, of whom Curran said he won-

dered whether a man could be as wise as

Thurlow looked. You will know that your

words reach every part of the building. An

ordinary voice, properly articulated and meas-

ured, easily fills a circumference of eight

hundred feet diameter, and this, too, in the

open air. Test the range of your voice, in

an open field, by measuring off four hundred

feet, at which point, station a friend, and

speak to him in a natural tone, observing a

5



medium pause after each word or two, and

not modulating much. You will never be

called to speak under great difficulties; and

if you find, as you will, that your words reach

this point clearly and distinctly, you need

not worry about not being heard in any

church or hall. If you are not heard, the fault

will not be yours.

Do not proceed a single step in the ap-

plication of the hints that you will find in

this book, until you have mastered the

principle of articulation. This is the basis

of all elocution. With it, any discourse is

tolerable. Without it, the highest oratory is

unmeaning jargon, so far as it is addressed

to the ear.

The last word of a sentence gives un-

practised speakers trouble to manage. Some

speakers meet the difficulty, by not dropping

the voice at all. This is contrary to a law of

speech, which generally marks the close of a

thought, by a fall of the voice. This last

word may be all important. If the hearer los-

es it, he loses your thought. A good way to

make the last word carry, is to emphasize it

a little. The natural effect of emphasis is to

raise the voice. If this slight stress is made,

the word will carry.

6



Another, and perhaps, better plan is to

pause slightly before the last word. This

requires a new impetus of breath, which

carries the word to its destination.

Watch this last word. People will tell

you they hear every word except the last.

Either stress it, or pause before it. Even if

you emphasize it rather forcibly and explo-

sively, this is better than to let it be lost.

If you are annoyed by an echo in the

church, use just sufficient voice to be heard.

The more boisterous you are, the noisier

will the echo become.

In fine, there is scarcely a difficulty in

making yourself understood, which cannot

be overcome by perfect articulation. It is

the fundamental law of delivery.

Leave to young misses the dread of open-

ing the mouth. Form the word well for-

ward in the mouth, and enounce it with due

force. Labor hard to overcome a tendency

to mumbling, or chewing your words. Re-

call stuttering Demosthenes, and pluck up

courage.

For a priest, the simple reflection should

suffice that at least a portion of his congre-

gation derive almost all their knowledge of

7



doctrine and morals, from the pulpit. Un-

happily, about the only religious book an

American reads, is his vest-pocket prayer-

book, and even this he wishes smaller.

But he yields to none in his intelligent and

respectful attention to a sermon.

I

8



CHAPTER II

THE NATURAL MANNER

E
very man has his own way of expressing

himself. It may be good or bad, but

it is his own. Is there any criterior of excel-

lence, any standard of taste in public speak-

ing, as there admittedly is in literary com-

position? If there is such a criterion, we

are bound to observe it.

Can we formulate any rules, by the ob-

servance of which, any speaker can hold

the ear of his audience?

Broadly speaking, he is an orator who

carries his point, the interesting or the con-

vincing of his hearers. He may shriek or

splutter his thoughts and arguments, but if

he succeeds in persuading his hearers, he

has attained the end of speaking. The man

with the facts and reasons may disregard

every law, but the one of intelligibility, and

carry the audience with him, and who shall

deny him the orator’s crown? The rapt

stillness of an audience is oftener a higher

tribute to oratorical power, than a storm of

9



shouts. Pure intellectual power, without a

single grace of delivery, has won enduring

oratorical fame.

But man is made up largely of sensitive

faculties. All his knowledge comes to him

through the senses. These the orator directly

addresses. He speaks to eye and ear. The

instruments which he uses partake of material

elements. His voice is a sound; his words,

vocalized breath. His sphere lies partly in the

material and sensible. He must adapt himself

to his environment. This determines his

methods, and, largely, his success.

Wendell Phillips said that O’ConneH’s

physical presence was half the battle. So

was Daniel Webster’s. Some have, from

nature, a clear, full, resonant voice. Still,

let no student despair of attaining some

excellence in public speaking, if he labors

under no irremediable vocal defect. Horace,

who distinguishes the poet from the orator,

declares that mediocrity in the poet is in-

sufferable. But there are degrees of excel-

lence in oratory; and it is in the power of

any man who can talk to learn to talk well.

The basis of all art is nature. Pope says

"true art is nature to advantage dressed."

The verdict of approval is given by the

10



pleased attention of a miscellaneous audi-

ence, which no speaking can permanently

interest, that is not natural and intelligible.

We have only to find out what pleases them,

to get a hint of how to proceed.

The natural pose is the most graceful.

It consists in keeping the hips well back,

the chest raised, the head up, the weight

of the body on the balls or forepart of

the feet, the heels resting lightly on the

ground, the hands falling naturally and easily

on the sides. The hardest thing to do on the

rostrum is to do nothing. The easy, uncon-

strained position on the altar or in the pul-

pit must be studied, until all awkwardness

vanishes, and you seem to the manner born.

We learn in childhood to modulate the

voice, by the imitation of the sounds of the

language we constantly hear. It is true

that there are certain tones of the voice,

as there are certain gestures, which are

natural to mankind, and which manifest

themselves in all human speech. But we

learn the inflections of our mother tongue

in infancy, on the street, at school. A for-

eigner is instantly detected by his inflection

of our native tongue, though he may speak

it more correctly than ourselves. If you can

11



modulate all the tones of your native lan-

guage, in accordance with universal use, you

can become a pleasing speaker. If, from any

cause, your intonations and inflections are

entirely different from those everywhere

heard and uttered around you, you will never

attain eminence as a speaker, though you

may win attention as a logician, theologian,

or scholar. You must use the tones and in-

flections of the people, if you are to please

them. Here, the educated and the illiterate

are one. A man may talk bad grammar, and

pronounce incorrectly. But his inflections are

as accurate as a college professor’s. This

music of the language, ringing in our ears

from infancy, must be heard in the orator’s

speech, or he will not move the popular

heart.

The best way of getting rid of all false

intonations, wrong inflections, affected em-

phasis, and other positive faults of modula-

tion, is to come back to the prevailing tones

of common conversation, such as you hear

them at table, on the street, in the cars, in

general society, from educated and uneducat-

ed alike.

In your exercise on this natural manner,

you must translate your sermon into the

12



simplest forms of speech, and tell it to your

friend or teacher, as you would tell a trifling

incident of the day.

In fact, you must exaggerate in private this

familiar style of preaching, in order to master

the simple conversational tones as applied to

grave subjects. We never make a mistake in
time, emphasis, force, modulation, or in-

flection, when we talk to one another at

table, or on a walk. When you doubt about

the proper way of preaching a sentence, make

up something like it, on an indifferent sub-

ject, and watch how you say the latter. De-

pend upon it, that is the right tone. The two

sentences: "The Church today celebrates the

Feast of All Saints,” and "There goes John

Smith down the street,” are pronounced with

the same inflection.

You will be timid at first, about adopting

this natural manner. It seems below the

dignity of the pulpit. You have so long

accustomed yourself to a plaintive whine, a

pathetic tremolo, or a ponderous monotone,

that you are startled to hear the natural

tones of your own voice in the pulpit. You

are afraid that the people will look up with

surprise at this irreverent innovation.

To prepare yourself for the imaginary

13



ordeal, practise this easy style for a while

in private. Give it at least a trial before

the bar of your own judgment. Declare

relentless war upon all tones, however musi-

cal, which you know and feel are not ap-

propriate to the natural expression of the

sentiment.

Have the courage for once to talk right

straight to the people. Cast all fear to the

winds. You are a man speaking to one in-

dividual, as if in the confessional, in your

room, on his deathbed. Let your congre-

gation be merged into this one poor sinner,

whom you are endeavoring to move, to

change, to convert to God. He is your

friend, your brother, your child. You and

he are alone. Speak, as you would then

speak, and the profound attention of your

auditory will show you that you have struck

the right chord.

It is the blending of your own individual

manner with this general intonation, or com-

mon way of inflecting the language, that

will keep you free from imitating others.

All imitation is destructive of the best effects

of speaking, which must be your own and

come from your heart, and be instinct with

your own individuality. Be yourself at your

14



best. Have a judicious friend to point out to

you your false tones, your pulpit reverbera-

tions, your long-drawn-out oh’s and ah's.

The nearer you approach the natural manner

of every-day expression, the better will you

preach. Simplicity is the last word of art, as

it is the first.

Practice and steady adherence to the

natural expression, in the face of inartistic

criticism, will give you courage and confi-

dence.

Charles James Fox became the incom-

parable Parliamentary debater he was, by

saying a few words on every bill before the

House. He said that he spoke every night

he attended the Commons, except one, and

he regretted that he did not speak then.

You must avail yourself of occasions to ad-

dress your people. You will find a good

opportunity of exercising the natural man-

ner, when addressing children. Here you

must talk plainly and simply. You must

introduce the anecdote, which is nothing, if

not naturally told. You will gradually

abandon the heavy, monotonous tones which

you may fancy are so impressive, and adopt

that charming, easy, persuasive conversa-

tional directness, which constitutes the per-

15



fection of delivery; for, being natural, it

lends itself to the highest oratorical flights,

which it saves from being bombastic. Where

once you thought terrific force was necessary

to emphasis, you will now perceive that pro-

found feeling expresses itself with subdued

intensity. You will come to understand the

poet’s dictum: "One touch of nature makes

the whole world kin.”

16



CHAPTER \U

CULTIVATION OF THE VOICE

I

T is related of Malibran, a famous prima

donna

,

that her singing-master kept her

a whole year, running the scales. She thought

that the second year would introduce her

to the study of grand opera, but the master

kept her at the same primary lessons. At the

close of the year, he said to her: "Go, you

are the first singer in Europe.”

In cultivating the speaking voice, you

have only to use it intelligently, that is to

say, naturally, and with ease and comfort to

yourself. Never mind the elaborate exer-

cises set down in books of elocution. Shout,

sing, declaim anything that pleases you,

keep the voice in use, and you will improve

it indefinitely.

The chords and muscles used in voice-

production grow strong, just as the muscles

of a blacksmith's arm, by proper use and

exercise. There is only one rule. Keep within

your natural range of voice. Avoid the fal-

17



setto. Speak neither too high, nor too low.

But speak often. Keep at it. If you like to

sing, no practice is better. Read aloud. De-

claim. Give this practice at least ten minutes

a day, if no more.

A deep, strong voice is desirable on many

accounts. You can lower your voice several

tones, by practising assiduously the intona-

tion of open vowel sounds. Take this line

from Tennyson:

"All day long, the noise of battle rolled."

Speak it on your lowest natural note.

Repeat it frequently. Roll out the o’s and

a’s, prolonging as deep a tone as you natural-

ly have, and you will deepen and strengthen

the voice wonderfully. But keep at it.

The orotund is an acquired voice. Its

basis, of course, is nature; but you must

practise the low tones, and the open vowels,

very steadily, if you desire to obtain it. Keep

at the o’s. Open wide the mouth, depress

the tongue, and say O as long as you can.

The reason why your voice is husky and

muffled on Sunday morning, is because you

have not used it during the week. Throw

open the window of your mouth daily, and

let the fresh air down your throat and lungs.

Roar, bellow, shout, if you are reasonably

18



secure against arrest, or detention in a crazy-

house. Try to make yourself heard above

the rattle of ice-carts and trolley cars. Do

anything to keep the voice in fair use. This

is the only rule.

A celebrated tragedian, who found him-

self "blown’ ’ after a passionate speech,

watched an actor who could declaim any

length of time, without apparent fatigue. He

found the secret—the art of voluntary breath-
ing. Take deep, full breaths, great inhala-

tions that fill lungs, abdomen, and all the

organs of respiration. This is the way to keep

the bellows full. You speak, just as the organ

plays. The apparatus of the human voice is

similar to that of any reed instrument. Keep

the bellows full, by deep breathing.

See how many figures you can count with

moderate slowness, after one full breath,

not from throat or chest alone, but from the

abdomen. If twenty, this will give you a

"pointer" to take breath after the same

number of words.

We breathe properly, when we are asleep

or quiet. But speaking requires plenty of

breath, and we are forced to keep up the

supply. Sometimes in our ardor, we forget

to take breath, at the proper place, and we

19



find ourselves gasping. Or, we snap a mouth-

ful of air, with our throat or upper chest.

Watch the bellows, that is, the abdomen.

Breathe deeply from that region, and your

voice will continue full and strong.

The happy result of intoning the open

vowels o and Italian a, on your lowest note,

will be the formation of the excellent habit

of speaking from the chest. You will be de-

lighted to find that you can speak for an hour

in this way, without any distress or fatigue.

But if you speak from the throat—using what
musicians call the head-voice—your voice
will become hoarse and squeaky, and you will

be extremely fatigued even after a fifteen

minutes’ speech.

Strike that note in your voice, the middle

one, from which you easily rise or fall. Keep

to that. If you want to speak louder, do not

raise your voice, but increase its volume or

power, on the same note.

Beware of any note or key which tires

you. It is nature’s signal that you are wrong.

Get back to the tone that comes easiest and

most flexible. Power is always attended with

ease. If you feel that you are pulling against

the stream, drop the oars, or pull in another

direction. A change of key in speaking is

20



pleasant. You can make it with greater ease

and less observation than a singer, who must

use considerable art, to cover up the slightest

fall from concert-pitch. Strike boldly into

the familiar conversational tone, if your ear

tells you that your voice is becoming strident

or husky.

Whatever improves the general health acts

favorably upon the quality of the voice. Ex-

ercise with the dumb-bells, Indian clubs and

general gymnastic of the arms tend to ex-

pand the chest. Speaking while going up hill

is also a good exercise. Observe the proper

attitude in walking and sitting. Do not

muffle the throat with scarfs or comforters,

unless after the sermon, when you must go

out into the cold air.

The full, pure, resonant voice comes from

cultivating the lower register. If you have

a nasal tone, get rid of it by practising on

the lower register. Perseverance will result

in the happiest effects.

Why does preaching weary and exhaust

you? Why do you dread the physical effort?

Believe me, it is because you do not use your

voice properly. We can talk for hours with-
out fatigue, and frequently as loudly as we

speak, or need to speak, in the pulpit. But

21



we talk naturally. We make use of the na-
tural inflections, the proper pauses, the right

cadences.

No sooner do we open our mouth in

the pulpit, than all is changed. A dreary

monotone strains the vocal chords, just as

constant drumming on one key of the piano

injures its general tone. Instead of speaking

from the chest, we pipe from the throat.

If only for your physical comfort, and out

of regard for your health, I implore you

to give these hints a trial. Take your time.

Inhale full breaths. Speak in your natural,

conversational tone. Vary your inflections in

accordance with the sentiment. Forget that

you are preaching; and soon you will ascend

the pulpit, with an elastic step and joyful

feeling. Far from fatiguing your body and

soul, preaching will become an exercise

beneficial to the throat and lungs.

These rules and exercises may seem mech-

anical; but the vocal apparatus is a mech-

anism. There is only one way of expressing

sentiment with absolute fidelity, and that

is, to feel it. But this depends so much on

mental and emotional qualities, that we can-

not be taught it. "Eloquence,’ ’ said one of

its masters, Daniel Webster, "'must exist in

22



the man, in the subject, and in the occasion.:’

A few hints, however, will set you on a

fair way to succeed in good expression.

"What I know ” said Socrates, "that I can

express.”

If you comprehend the full meaning,

weight, and purport of every sentence that

you utter, you will speak it better naurally,

than if you applied to its delivery all the

rules of all the rhetoricians. The mechanical

reading of little children comes from their

ignorance of the meaning of words. Your

own sermon, really and truly your own,

thought out of your mind and heart, will

come from your mouth, laden with signifi-

cance, emphasis, and power.

Study to form each sentence, until it is

the very image of your thought. Reflect

upon your ideas, meditate them, probe the

meaning of important words, and then speak,

and you will see what I mean.

Julius Caesar and Napoleon could dictate

to seven secretaries, a different letter, almost

simultaneously. But most of us find it hard

enough to fix our mind one one thing at a

time. If we preach a memorized discourse,

we must work with divided energy, unless a

23



perfect committal to memory leaves every

other faculty free.

Endeavor to memorize, without specific

words, the ideas in their order and sequence.

Practice will bring command of language.

Never will you reach the full measure of

the orator’s power, until you are able to do

this. One thing at a time is the law for the

generality of minds.

When you are possessed with your sub-

ject; when it is part of your mental structure;

when you have not only brought it forth,

but nourished it in the recesses of your heart;

then rise to give it forth. You will be sur-

prised at the ease and fluency with which you

will speak. It is the divine saying illustrated

:

"Out of the abundance of the heart, the

mouth speaketh.”

24



CHAPTER IV

THE STYLE OF A SERMON

A
sermon is made to be heard, not to

be read. That was a shrewd preacher

who was urged to print his sermons, and

who answered: "Yes, if you print me with

them.
,,

I desire to impress upon you this truth,

that you have your own way of saying things,

and that for you, it is the best. I am ad-

dressing educated men, many of whom know

more about the theory of sermonizing than

I do; but I claim a wide experience in the

practice of preaching, and I am deeply con-

vinced, that most of us are on the wrong

track, in the composition of our discourses.

My idea of a sermon, is that it is an ani-

mated conversation with one person— an
ideal person, if you choose—in the audience.
In this view, a sermon is not a theological

disquisition, an ornate essay, or a Ciceron-

ian oration. You may make use of all that

rhetoric teaches regarding the composition

25



of such discourses, but a sermon is none of

them. I go so far as to say, that you can

preach an excellent sermon that will not

read well, or look well in print.

Sit down at your desk, or, better, go out

for a walk, and ask yourself: What do I

want to say to my people? What truth do

I wish to expound? What duty to enforce?

What warning to give?

Let your subject lie in your mind. There is

such a psychological fact as unconscious cere-

bration. Your subject will actually grow up

in your mind, and the least tending will help

it to reach maturity. Talk the matter over

with yourself. Be your own hearer. What

impresses you, depend upon it, will impress

the people. "Where did you get your won-

derful knowledge of human nature?” was

asked of Massillon. "From my own heart,”

was his answer.

I may give your vanity a twinge, when I

counsel you to eschew originality. We are

in possession of the Truth, in full measure,

overflowing, heaped into our bosom. We

do not need the topics of Aristotle, or the

laborious processes of rhetorical invention.

Pr&dica verbum. The word is already in

our mouth. It is for us only to give it forth.

26



The final cause determines the means.

You must prepare your sermon, from the

standpoint of your people’s needs. This

truth, so obvious, is the one which we con-

tinually ignore.

The first thing a lawyer does is to study

his jury. Let us take a lesson from him.

Ruskin’s rules, not to waste pains on

stupid pupils, but give all care to the bright

ones, may do for a school of art, but it will

not do for a congregation. You do not

neglect your bright, intelligent members,

(who will admire you all the more) when

you adapt your discourse to the understand-

ing of the simple-minded and the illiterate.

You know the range of common lan-

guage. You hear it daily, in the confes-

sional, from your servants, from that ubi-

quitous person, the average man. That is

the language which I want you to use, puri-

fied from slang, bad grammar, and faulty

pronunciation.

Be a philosopher. You want these people

to receive your ideas. Present them in the

only medium in which they can receive

them. Be on this point a rigid utilitarian.

Long, rounded periods, classical allusions,

closely-reasoned points, perfect syllogisms,

27



abstruse theological terminology are lost on

miscellaneous assemblies.

When an army comes to a bridge, the

order of 'break step” is given. The bridge

would give way under the steady, regular,

footfalls. The common mind breaks down

under a serried column of syllogisms.

You now see the purport of this chapter,

and, indeed, of the entire book. As the

system of elocution herein defended may

be termed the natural and conversational,

so the style of sermon advocated, is the sim-

ple, obvious, and familiar.

You must learn to talk to the people, in

the language of the people, and awaken in

their minds the ideas of religion that lie

dormant there. To become a successful

preacher, you need only tell the people what

they already know, but you must tell it to

them forcibly.

If you would learn a salutary lesson, ask

even a fairly intelligent man, to tell you

what he remembers of your last sermon, or

of any sermon. Your experience will lead

you to this most important conclusion : About

one half of a congregation can take home

one idea, out of a long discourse. Now you

have a clear conception of the limits of your

28



work. You know what you can do. You

can drive home one idea, into at least one

half of your congregation. This fact must

determine your whole composition. It must

be, mainly the amplification of one leading

thought, and that within the comprehension

of the average man.

Fix that one idea in your head. Resolve to

get it into the heads of your hearers. Have

no childish fears of repetition. All’s well

that ends well. Bring every resource to bear

upon the elucidation of that one thought.

Throw every argument into a figure of

speech, an illustration, an anecdote. DrawT

pictures. Go into word-painting. Remember

that the intellects you address are untrained,

are little above the grade of childhood.

Clothe your logic in flowers. Keep to par-

ticulars. The common mind cannot general-

ize. Your sermon may break every stiff canon

of pedantic rhetoric, yet be a glorious suc-

cess. You are bound to convey one truth

anyhow. Make sure of that. Go back to it

by another way, and show it again and again.

Amplify. Heap up illustrations. They never

weary the people, though your severely classic

taste may rebel against them.

The art of writing is specifically distinct

29



from the art of speaking. We forget this,
and wonder why our well-written sermons

fail to make an impression; and our badly-

jointed, impromptu talks to the people rivet

their attention. Rhetoric discountenances

what oratory allows. Oratory delights in ful-

ness, in repetition, in loosely-woven sen-

tences, in exclamations, in parentheses. It

follows spontaneously the natural order of

thoughts and feelings. The writer must con-

dense, must keep the strict construction, the

syntactical collocation. The orator makes

his meaning clear, with a wave of his hand,

by an inflection of his voice. A pause, an

exclamation, a flash of the eye, say all. Speech

is only one of his media of communication.

You may hardly be able to parse some of his

sentences; but his meaning is as clear as

the noon-tide. Said Desdemona to Othello:

"I understand a fury in your words,

But not the words.”

To acquire the conversational style, you

must begin by discarding the cut-and-dried

formulas of divisions, sections, sub-sections,

a, b, c, d, etc. Having thought out your dis-

course, sit down, and write as simply and

clearly as you can. Follow the current of

30



your thought, and do not pause to pick out

fine words. Do not write more than five

pages of foolscap. If you follow the direc-

tions for slow delivery, these will take you

about a half-hour, counting the reading of the

Gospel, and the announcements. No sermon,

except on a special occasion, should exceed

a half hour in length.

Practise daily a short extemporaneous ad-

dress to your table and chairs. These must

be your first audience. The advantage of

writing is, that it forces you to say your

say. The same happy effect follows upon

your attempt to speak aloud. We are brim-

ful of ideas, in our own mind. The trouble

begins, when we try to express them, to give

them a local habitation and a name. Never

mind a break-down. You will learn more

from your failures, than from your successes.

It would be foolish to decry the advan-

tages of our training in rhetorical compo-

sition. But, remember, that "all the rhetori-

cian's rules but teach him how to use his

tools.” Get clear ideas about your subject.

Write them out in plain English. Deliver

them, as I have tried to show you, and sit

down, when you have said them.

We talk in short sentences. We do not

31



labor to connect them with the elegant junc-

tures, which constitute so high a grace, in

an accomplished writer. The orator can

afford to neglect these niceties. This will

lessen your labor of composition.

If the axiom of Cicero is true, caput artis

decere, appropriateness is the perfection of

art, I hope to have shown that the best

sermon is something like that which I have

endeavored to describe, namely, a direct,

earnest, familiar address of a man speaking

to men, in language which they understand,

upon a single important truth which it is of

the highest interest for him to make plain,

and for them to retain.

32



CHAPTER V

GESTURE

o more certain sign of the presence of

oratorical power can be given, than

freedom and propriety of gesture. The sys-

tem of Delsarte is based upon this fact, and

he has simply formulated his rules, in accord-

ance with his observation of the natural ex-

pression of thought and emotion, in great

orators, actors, and singers. The orator, in

the exaltation of delivery, is a living proof

of the theological doctrine that the soul is

the form of the body. Heavy, awkward, inert

in an ordinary mood of tranquillity, he be-

comes transfigured in the pulpit, or on the

rostrum. Intellect, emotion, passion, all re-

veal themselves in what Cicero calls the

language of the body.

The power of expressive gesture is innate,

or most intimately associated with a peculi-

arly sensitive and emotional temperament.

Gesture, in this sense, cannot be taught. It

is spontaneous.

33



Happily, the preacher is not expected to

excel in this power. Indeed, the gravity of

his office forbids any violent or merely mi-

metic gesture. If, however, he is a true

orator, he is a law to himself, and what in

others seems exaggerated or dramatic is felt

to be appropriate.

A dignified and manly attitude secures

attention and respect by its indication of

self-command, and conscious power and au-

thority to teach. Here, good taste and sense

are your best guides. The quieter and more

composed you are, at the beginning of the

sermon, the quieter will the congregation be-

come. Wait until every noise in the church

is stilled. If you begin speaking before the

congregation have settled themselves in the

pews, the noise will continue. Stop and

wait, and all will become quiet.

Gymnastic exercises will give you ease and

flexibility of movement, which are the basis

of all correct gesture. If you cannot make

any gesture at all, console yourself with

Ruskin’s opinion, that the orator should

make no gesture, as it diverts the mind from

the calm reception of truth.

To insure a certain grace and effectiveness

of manner, have a judicious friend to point

34



out to you any awkwardness he may observe,

or any unseemly gesture or grimace, into

which we all unconsciously fall, if left to

ourselves. As you never know your own

fault in this respect, it is needless here to

enumerate.

The exterior being the index of the in-

ternal sentiment, you must begin to learn

gesture from within. Perfect self-possession

dominates an audience. They feel that you

are master of the situation. This self-pos-

session, which is also the mark of a gentle-

man, can come only from your knowledge

of the sermon. If you have memorized it

imperfectly, your strained expression of coun-

tenance, and the vacant eye will tell the tale.

You are reciting a piece.

If you really and truly feel the sentiment,

your gestures will be correct, no matter

how widely they deviate from the fashion-

plates in books of elocution. Your own per-

sonality, your individuality, then speaks, and

you reveal yourself. The soul leaps to your

eyes, raises the hand, advances the foot.

Surrender yourself to the inspiration. You

cannot go far wrong. The mischievous

teaching of a set of conventional gestures

only represses the native ardor of the soul.

35



Training, suggestion, will come to you later.

Your gesture is your own. It may be too

vehement; it may be awkward. Be of good

courage. These are only defects, not faults.

Gesture is a sign of emotion. If you do

not feel, do not gesticulate.

As no one but a great orator can make

gesture speak, never attempt the grand style,

unless you are certain that you are an orator.

But as you are, or certainly will become

a good speaker, study the natural expression

of the hand, in laying down the law, in point-

ing out a course of action, in invitation, in

repelling. You can learn this, by simply

watching the unaffected movements of those

around you.

Cardinal Manning had only one gesture,

that of the index finger. But do not use it

because he did.

Plant yourself firmly on your feet. This

gives an air of solidity and self-possession.

Do not walk up and down the altar.

Speak straight before you, if you are in a

large church or in one with many pillars.

Bobbing the head from one side to the other

diverts the current of sound, which follows

an invariable law, like a wave on a lake.

A certain dignity and majesty of manner

36



dispenses with gesture. We can do much

to supply the place of gesture, by impressive

looks and tones.

Keep your self-control. If you lose the

thread of your discourse, do not betray that

you are in a quandary. Speak on. Say the

Te Deum in English, or anything devotional

that you remember. Here, your knowledge

of the rhetorical pause will serve you in good

stead.

If you are of opinion that you can learn

gesture, go to an intelligent friend, and let

him watch your movements in declamation.

Be entirely unreserved. With no other guide

than his eye, he will be able to tell you,

whether you are likely to learn or not. Re-

member that very little gesticulation will

answer all the requirements of an ordinary

discourse.

There is one accomplishment in the power

of us all to perfect, which is really more

fascinating than the most studied gesture.

It is the air and manner of a gentleman.

This shows itself quite as plainly on the altar,

as in the drawing-room. That indefinable air

of good breeding, which distinguishes a gen-

tleman, and which cannot be assumed and

laid aside, but accompanies him everywhere,

37



for it is a part of himself, will lend its charm

to your manner in the pulpit, and make up

for your want of grand gestures. We can-
not all be orators, but the cultivation of hu-

mane feelings, courtesy to all, the poor es-

pecially, high and noble thinking, holiness

of life, due observance of the usages of good

society, will stamp their charming traces

upon our action and speech in the pulpit, and

produce effects which the most perfect de-

clamation, without them, will seek after in

vain.

The best book for the attainment of the

proper manner of the pulpit, is the cere-

monial. If we know our ceremonies well, we

shall never act awkwardly in the sanctuary.

Going into the pulpit and leaving it, should

be marked with proper slowness and dignity.

Delsarte says, that the reverent signing of

the cross before the sermon, at once places

the priest in command of his audience. We

have so many positive aids toward making

our preaching effective, that we need not de-

plore our inability to make gestures. The

robed figure, the stole of authority, the calm,

impressive attitude of the ambassador of the

Most High, would seem to render all ges-

ture superfluous.

38



CHAPTER VI

THE PUBLIC READING OF

ENGLISH DEVOTIONS

I

T is clear from the admitted difficulty of

reading properly the English Book of

Common Prayer, in the public service of the

Church of England, that some attention is

due to our own reading of occasional English

prayers in public. There are now so many

devotions conducted in the vernacular, so

many confraternities and sodalities that hold

public service in English, that we must rec-

ognize the necessity of careful preparation for

such ministrations.

It is hard to convince an educated man

that he does not know how to read aloud

his own language. He does not blunder in

pronunciation; he observes every comma;

he has a loud voice; yet he reads badly.

Dogberry held that reading and writing come

by nature, and there is truth in the idea, at

least as regards expressiveness in reading.

This is largely the gift of nature, the result of

good vocal organs, under the control of a

39



fine, emotional temperament. But good read-

ing of any kind is rare. The reading of

public prayer is peculiarly difficult, and

none but a very thoughtless man will at-

tempt to read the Scriptures, or indeed, any

book of devotion, aloud in church, until he

has made some preparation, or given fre-

quent thought and practice to the laws of

vocal delivery. Consider how difficult a lan-

guage we have to articulate. Byron humor-

ously contrasts the English "guttural splutter-

air’ with the melody of the Italian. The ge-

nius of the English tongue sacrifices harmony

to strength. Cardinal Wiseman says that no

language needs the help of gesture more

than the English, and no people use it less.

A German sounds nearly every letter of his

polysyllabic words; an Italian rolls out every

vowel, even in his so-called diphthongs. In

France, public reading is classed with the

fine arts. We expect a man to understand us
from a grunt, half a verb, and, if we are

very explicit, a nod of the head. If, with

all our care in addressing the people from

the pulpit, we often fail to make ourselves

understood, how much more difficult it is to

read prayer, with our back to the congrega-

tion, as when we face the altar?

40



In the public reading of prayers, we must

depend entirely upon the management of

the voice. Good taste and approved custom

require us to use the monotone, which car-

ries well, if carefully articulated.

An acoustic law requires us to read very

slowly, if we read, facing the altar. The

sounds strike the irregular surface in front

of us, and they rebound with difficulty.

When an actor has to speak, with his back

to the audience, he pauses after nearly every

word, and makes very few inflections.

Run your eye over the next line of the

prayer, and speak it, holding your head

erect. If you bury your face in the book,

even the altar boys will misplace the amens.

We must beware of preaching in our

prayer, if we would escape the censure in-

curred by the minister, who, under pretence

of addressing Heaven, poured hot shot into

the delinquent pew-holders.

Every prayer has a central thought. Try

to bring this out, simply, sincerely, unaf-

fectedly. Let it be your reverent study to

pronounce aright the sacred name of Jesus.

The private preparation of our public

reading should consist in a careful perusal

of the matter aloud. Rarely attempt to read

41



in public a prayer off-hand. If the people

are not familiar from custom with the subject

of the devotion, read the title of the prayer,

in a clear, loud, measured tone, and pause

for a moment, before beginning the body

of the prayer.

The Sunday announcements afford us an-

other practice in public reading. Indistinct-

ness in these, sometimes gives rise to ludi-

crous misunderstandings, as in the case of

the man who thought that a Lenten regula-

tion read: "Custom has made it lawful, to

take, in the morning, some warm liquor ”

The impressive reading of the Gospel be-

speaks attention for your sermon. Indeed,

nothing awakens deeper attention than the

proper reading of the word of God. The

people never tire of that Beauty, ever an-

cient, ever new. They know the Sunday Gos-

pels by heart, yet they listen with ever fresh

attention.

We have a proper horror of a camp-

meeting tone, yet solemnity must be the pre-

vailing key. Be simple, and observe the na-

tural modulations. Pause before and after

the emphatic word. What that word is, you

must study out for yourself. No two men

ever read alike the same passage, or ever will.

42



Cast-iron rules for emphasis, time, force, etc.,

are positively pernicious. Use your judgment,

taste, feeling. The very attempt you make,

will help to develop them.

In reading encyclicals, episcopal letters,

and similar documents, study variety of tone.

Cicero characterizes the judgment of the ear

as superbissimum. We demand a discord in
music, a rough line in poetry, for a change.

You will save your reading from monotony,

by changing now and then the key or the

time. The same general direction applies

to delivery. Change, change! If every style

of writing is good, except the tedious, every

style of speaking is good, except the mono-

tonous.

43



CHAPTER VII

DAILY HELPS TO IMPROVEMENT

enator Roscoe Conklin was asked how

he acquired the faultless pronunciation,

and the grammatical accuracy which marked

even his impromptu addresses. "By attend-

ing to them in my private conversation,” he

answered.

We cannot neglect the ordinary laws of

good English, in our daily chats, without

showing the effects in the pulpit. Slovenly

pronunciation, indifferent grammar, the ha-

bitual use of slang, a habit of slurring or

dropping syllables will go with us into the

pulpit.

The basis of public speech being conver-

sation, we must give heed to our manner of

daily talk. A little care and attention will

enable us to frame complete sentences, in-

stead of the half phrases and ejaculations,

into which indolence tempts us. The freedom

of conversation need not let the subject go

44



hunting for a verb, and meet the wrong one.

Conversation, which, in the old world is

studied as a delightful art, threatens to be-

come a lost one with us. Society, in general,

has no resource but cards.

Still, we are a nation of talkers, and we

need not go far, to find grand masters in the

art. Become interested in an important and

interesting subject, and discuss it with an in-

telligent friend. Visit the literary society

connected with your church, and do not dis-

dain to take part in those debates which, no

doubt, are destined to shake the world. An

hour in the school will brighten you up, more

than you may care to acknowledge.

Remember that you are, by profession, a

public speaker. People will look up to you

as an authority. The church is filled with

young folk, fresh from the grammar and the

dictionary. Not even Caesar is above gram-

mar. Half-educated persons are the sharpest

critics. They make no allowance for a slip

in syntax, or a false pronunciation. When

you are in doubt about the spelling, the pro-

nunciation, or above all, the meaning of a

word, consult the dictionary.

To acquire a command of simple and vig-

orous English, I recommend you to read the

45



authors of the last century. Addison, Swift,

Edmund Burke, and Goldsmith write for the

understanding of plain men. You know from

all the teachers of rhetoric, that inflated dic-

tion and sesquipedalian words offend against

the highest canons of good taste. It is said

of Moliere, that he used to read his plays to

his washerwoman, and any word that she

could not understand, he would strike out.

Our education having been conducted so

extensively in Latin, that language inevit-

ably affects our English style. We must be
on the alert with the army of Latin words

which we have, it is true, under our com-

mand, but which may easily become our

Praetorian Guard. Most of our older Catho-

lic English literature, very good for matter,

is disfigured by Latinisms and Gallicisms,

from the circumstance that the authors were

obliged to get their education on the Conti-

nent, owing to the proscriptive laws against

Catholics in England. They lost the grace

and flexibility of the English idiom.

Enrich your mind with some of the great

passages of Shakespeare and Milton. The

best of any language is in its poetry.

I question the utility of much reading of

sermons. Better your own thoughts, in your

46



own words, however far they fall below the

magnificence of a great writer’s. You are

to speak simple truth, not read or recite a

finished essay. Your own words, warm from

the heart, are, for effect, worth a library of

sermons not your own. Only in so far as

you can assimilate the thought of a writer,

is he of benefit to you.

Thinking, meditation, reflection are the

fountains of eloquence. If you had no book

but the New Testament, that, with reflection,

would furnish matter for a lifetime of preach-

ing.

Read little and slowly, frequently pausing

to take in the full meaning of the author.

Never read what you cannot relish. It is a

waste of time. The mind retains only that

in which it delights. Once study becomes a

task, it is fruitless.

The end of all education is to give a certain

pliancy and quickness to the mind. Do not

mistake the means for the end.

Waste no time in regretting that you have

forgotten much of your college learning,

your Greek and Hebrew. All these studies

did the only work which is of permanent

value. They developed and trained your in-

telligence, and it is partly what it is, because

47



of them. But now that your mind is quick,

vigorous, able to grasp ideas, and estimate

their value, apply it to worthy thought.

Muse on the eternal truths, the lesson of the

Gospel, the commandments of God, the sub-

jects which bear upon your own salvation,

and that of your people. These are themes

worthy of the contemplation of angels. They

elevate and ennoble the intellect. Try to

master them by your own living thought,

under the guidance of Divine Faith.

If you exert your powers, trained by study

and experience, you cannot fail to preach

well. Too many books will only confuse and

benumb you. If you candidly acknowledge

the truth, you will say that you never ob-

tained exactly what you wanted from any

sermon-book. The works that helped you

were those that made you think, such as

commentaries, sketches of sermons, books of

spiritual reading, etc.

To keep in touch with the times, take one

good journal, and one good Review. Much

reading of newspapers vitiates any style you

may have, and, as you never dream of trying

to remember what you read in them, they are

practically useless, as means of mental cul-

tivation.

48



You may inquire, with perfect propriety,

of a sensible friend, what part or parts of

your discourse made a good impression.

Find out wherein lies your talent or power,

and cultivate that. This is all our Lord

will demand.

There is the highest authority for the dec-

laration, that our salvation is intimately con-

nected with our faithful ministry of the Di-

vine Word. This thought is one full of awe

and inspiration.

Do not lay aside this little book, without

a resolve to give some of its hints a trial.

The end of thought is action. You are hope-

less, if you think that you are perfect.

Take up for exercise at least one of the

points. If preaching leaves you hoarse and

exhausted, begin the natural manner of

delivering your sermon as a talk. If you can-

not make your words carry, give your at-

tention to articulation. If you never think of

declaiming on a week-day, now begin. Do

a little, at least on Saturday. All I ask is that

you give these principles a fair trial.

"No day without a line” was the maxim

and practice which led Appelles to immor-

tality. The voice of octogenarian Gladstone

thrills the House of Commons like a trumpet.

49



The acting and tones of Henry Irving in

"Becket,” send his hearers weeping to their

homes. These men labor for an earthly

crown. They put us to the blush.

We are invested with the mission of the
Apostles. Let us strive to render ourselves

worthy of the sublimest of embassies—
"Christ speaking by us.” Since creation, God

carries out His purposes by secondary causes,

and with fit instruments. Let us be ready

when the Master calls us to proclaim His

message; to be for Him, the Voice in the

wilderness, the Trumpet in Sion, the herald

of the Great King.

50





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